


we lost her

by sarcastic_fina



Series: don't hate me [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Character Suicide, F/M, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shouldn’t have let him walk away. He should’ve known. There was no Oliver without Felicity. There was no way he’d be able to come back from that. But he’d thought— He’d hoped that maybe he would at least try to hold on. He should’ve known better…</p>
            </blockquote>





	we lost her

When Diggle and Roy finally found them, there was nothing left.

Laurel was sitting in a heap, staring in shocked confusion as Oliver, his hood no longer covering his face, cradled the dead body of his EA.

Digg stumbled when he saw her.

“No,” he breathed, his furrowed tightly.

Roy stopped halfway to Oliver, his hands balled up into fists, and he stared down at them a moment before he looked back at Digg for some king of guidance.

Oliver’s hands were stained completely red. He repeatedly stroked Felicity’s hair back from her face, tears falling silently down his face, tripping off his chin and splattering onto her skin. It left a trail of red as her blood mixed with his tears, smearing over her cheek, over and over again. He was muttering to himself, words they couldn’t make out, as he rocked a little, back and forth, staring down at her lifeless face.

John closed his eyes for a moment, his mouth trembling, before finally he moved forward. Carefully, slowly, he knelt down in front of his two friends. He reached for Felicity’s hand, limp and cold, and squeezed it tightly in his own.

“Oliver,” he choked out. “We have to go… We have to move her.”

Oliver didn’t hear him.

John rubbed his thumb over Felicity’s knuckles, blinking as a film of tears burned his eyes. He opened his mouth to try again, but he could feel the burning at the back of his throat and knew what would come out of him wouldn’t be words at all.

He raised his other hand, pressing his thumb and forefinger hard against his eyes, hoping to stop the tears that were quickly making themselves known. “Oliver,” he managed gruffly.

Oliver shook his head. “I failed her.” His shaking hand ran down the top of her head. “I failed her, Digg.”

As a tear fell down his cheek, Digg shook his head. “No. You tried to save her, I know you did.”

“I lost her.” His chest heaved as he dragged in a breath and looked up at him, lost and broken. “I lost her.”

Digg nodded, blinking but unable to keep the tears from falling. “Yeah, yeah, we did.”

Oliver curled into himself, hunching over her and pulling her in tight. He buried his face at her neck and cried, his whole body shaking. The room was filled with nothing but grief, the desperate, aching loss of Oliver’s cries filled the air while John’s silent mourning only served to support it.

And then Oliver stopped.

He went blank and empty. He stopped shaking and crying and stood from the ground, lifting her as he went, before he walked out. He didn’t stop to look at Roy or Laurel or back at John. He just walked away, carrying the limp body of Felicity in his arms.

She looked so small. God, she looked so young and tiny and impossible in that moment.

John took a moment, trying to pull himself back together. Roy untied Laurel and helped her to her feet, holding her steady when her legs threatened to give out on her.

“She saved me,” Laurel murmured.

Wiping at his face, John looked at her. “What?”

“She saved me.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with the trauma she’d witnessed. “She made him shoot her so Oliver wouldn’t have to choose. She saved my life.” Her face crumbled and she shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know she’d do that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

John shook his head, swallowing tightly, and he looked to Roy. “Get her out of here. Bring her to her Lance.”

Roy nodded, wrapping an arm around Laurel’s waist as he helped her walk.

John turned around, arms crossed over his chest. He just needed another minute. But soon found himself staring at where Oliver and Felicity had been, at the pool of drying blood on the ground. He stared until his eyes burned from not blinking and then he yelled. He hollered and screamed until his lungs ached and his bones shook and there was nothing left. Until the rage and the loss left him weak. And then he gathered himself together and he left, making his way to the car he expected Oliver and Felicity to be in. He couldn’t think, couldn’t come up with some way to explain it away. What would result in Felicity Smoak getting her head blown off?

But any plans he might’ve had for explaining one death away (robbery in the Glades gone wrong?) were soon forced to a halt.

He wasn’t far from the car when a blast of light went off and a gunshot echoed on the air. His heart stuttered in his chest as he stopped, his eyes wide. The glass in the backseat of the car was blown out, bloody and shattered, falling across the trunk and spreading over the ground, glinting in the light of the street lamps.

John knew what it was before he reached the car, but he still ran, still hoped, still begged God to give him this one miracle.

When he pulled the door open, he found Oliver with a gun in one hand and Felicity cradled loosely in his arm. He’d shot himself clear through the head, leaving little chance he’d survive.

“Damn you, Oliver. Damn it!” John slammed the door against the car, over and over, until the window broke. He fell to his knees on the ground, his head hung low, and he cried, burying his face in his hands. He shouldn’t have let him walk away. He should’ve known. There was no Oliver without Felicity. There was no way he’d be able to come back from that. But he’d thought— He’d _hoped_ that maybe he would at least  _try_ to hold on. He should’ve known better…

John slammed his fists down into the dirt ground and roared.

This was on Slade.

He would kill him with his bare hands, he vowed it then and there.

That day, John Diggle died alongside his team, and in his place there was nothing but cold, dark vengeance.


End file.
